


The Midas Touch: 1

by smackdown_senpai



Series: The Midas Touch [1]
Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Cibophobia, Psychological Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-05-15 22:05:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19304749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smackdown_senpai/pseuds/smackdown_senpai
Summary: A Homeworld Gem narrowly escapes torture at the hands of her superiors and winds up on a strange and unfamiliar planet. Is she really safe, or has she merely postponed her inevitable punishment? My first published fic on this site since I started writing, please be liberal with any criticism :)





	The Midas Touch: 1

**Author's Note:**

> This doesn't feature any of the main cast, and instead focuses on another side of the universe altogether - namely, the darker side of Homeworld's hierarchy, and how it affects one of the lowest-ranking gems in the system. The torture isn't too explicit but there is threat, violence and a paranoid main character; please let me know if there are any more tags or warnings I should add.  
> Please enjoy!

#  Glint 1

 

Built to fail. It was all built to fail.

The ship, the guidance system, the shields which barely held through reentry and definitely wouldn’t hold for another flight. Even their own body. It was a miracle that D-37109 survived.

One. Two. Three. Closed eyes. Open. Crawl out into the light. Stand, slowly.

D-37109 held a hand to their belly, feeling for their gem, running fingertips over its vertex. Every inch, every familiar dent, just where it should be. Not even a hairline. Blink. Still awake.

 

A study group of Peridots strolled past the crash site, tapping hand screens and conferring between themselves, and keeping several meters away. D-37109 catches the eye of one, a shorter-haired figure, who sneered and turned up their nose.  

“D-37109. REPORT TO EDIFICE 12 FOR INTEGRITY ANALYSIS.”

They scrambled to their feet. The source of the voice, a gray-vested White Quartz guard, pointed a thick finger towards the blocky tower at the far end of the controlled-crash site. D-37109 walked carefully, aware of every piece of shrapnel, hoping desperately that the Quartz would not shove them along. They noticed they had crossed their arms over their chest and panicked that it would be seen as an attempt to hide a scuff-wound or dent - but the screen door hissed shut behind them, bathing them in darkness.

  
The Scan Robonoid translated into the room, passing a red beam over their body, deciding to an absolute degree whether the crash had caused them any harm. D-37109 clenched their fists, hoped the movement would not be seen as some kind of flaw, shaking uncontrollably through them. For a terrible three-and-a-half seconds it stopped still over their gem, adjusting and readjusting its lens. Then it phased back into the wall, out of sight.  
Alone, they opened their hands. They were safe.  
D-37109 felt their way along the wall to the slab where they were expected to stay strapped to in order to prevent any chance of injury before their next use. That could be any time from a few moments to several cycles, they thought in a whisper. D-37109 knew there were others like them: Gems also known as Pyrites. They knew their purpose, written into their mind: testing, experimentation, flaw analysis, a surrogate victim to take the place of other, higher-ranked gems who would make use of the perfected technology. Beyond that, and the recognisance of gem patterns and their tools of office, D-37109 knew nothing. Alone in the dark, the only things they could make out were the shifting shadows of memories.

A jet engine, blasting white heat over their body with the intensity of a roaring star.

A chequered room, squares blending as destabilizer rays coursed through their body.

 

The vistas of other worlds rushing into their eyes, fixed open by a stasis field.

 

D-37109 wished for some way to block them out, but in this room there was no way to escape. Even the innate survival-oriented thinking which told them simply to wait struggled to justify it. 

Maybe the guards would come if they called out, started to speak, kicked out. And the guards would bring those glowing prongs that would leave no mark but would make every movement hurt. But they would be someone real. Wasn’t it real here already? D-37109 didn’t know the answer.

#  Glint 2

 

A plate of light dropped across D-37109’s gem. It was real light, not that of their unconscious mind. From the minute quality of its heat, they imagined it was star-borne radiation. A sun. D-37109 rolled over to stand at the foot of the slab, facing the door. They took in the sights of the gems standing in the doorway.

One was like a second door, a drab ochre with a square head, square body and arms even thicker than a Quartz. It was a Topaz. Standing atop its flat head was a diminutive blue Gem in fluffy covering, holding a wand. Their gem drooped from their lower lip, which D-37109 put out of their mind in favour of the middle distance. This might be a test of decorum.

“Look here, Topaz 2500. A Pyrite! You know, this particular specimen is at least two hundred cycles old! Impressive to be still standing.”

The Topaz nodded passively.

“  three-seven-one-zero-nine. Rather rolls off the tongue, don’t you think?”

“Yes, Lace-Aquamarine.”

“Of course, it’s not quite as good a number as One. Certainly not when they show signs of digital instability like the rest of the 37100’s.”

The Lace-Aquamarine ruffled their skirt and hopped down into the room. They curtsied aside as the Topaz entered.

“Well, that’ll do for introductions. I do so like getting to know you lower-grade Gems. It keeps one humble.”

Two paws reached out, and in a smooth but implacable series of actions, 37109 was hoisted up, folded into a ball, and deposited inside the orange body of the giant Gem. They remained motionless, blinking and rolling their eyes to take in the room. They knew they would not be able to move anyway. The Aquamarine stepped into view, and their knowing smile contorted with self-satisfaction.  
“You will be part of a very important performance. Next cycle, we will be unveiling a shiny new monolith depicting the likeness of our master, a commission in honour of Yellow Diamond herself, at her behest.   
“To prove the indomitability of her strength, we will be directing a storm of asteroids towards it, creating a beautiful display as its automatic defences obliterate them all at once.”

They spread their arms in imitation.

“You shall be the pilot for the Trawling pod. To pull the whole parade off perfectly, we need a live target that no-one will miss. Of course, this shall mean your painful vaporisation, but think of the majesty of such a show!”

She watched, waiting for 37109 to react. 37109 stayed still.

“So dull. Topaz, about-turn. We’ll want to make good time if we’re to make our explosion-quota.”

37109 could do nothing but shake their trapped wrists. There was no escape. The Topaz gave them a moment of acknowledgement, tapping her palm an inch from their face, before making their way to a parked shuttle.

#  Glint 3

 

There was not much of a view from the Topaz’s front. 37109 watched their hands move on the control pad, two joined ovals. They’d tested that design themselves. Back then, it had made their hands feel like sand. 37109 looked up, and met 2500’s glance for a moment. Abruptly, the shuttle arrived. The viewscreen opened up to two feet in bright, glowing steel. There were already several gems busying themselves around the base of the statue, groups of Bismuth rushing away to several other shuttles. 37109 found themselves cradled in the Topaz’s arms, taken to a tube in the wall. Before they could regain control of their senses, they were dropped onto the seat of a spartan cockpit. There were no lights, and just a steering pad. The commanding voice of a Peridot screeched on.

“  37109, activate your craft, and proceed to the Crown.”

37109 reached forward- “And hurry up!”

37109 sat up and looked around the dome. A fragile chain of flaming rocks vibrated with barely-contained velocity. Their tails were shortened, but they were unmistakably aimed straight through the ship.

“  37109, HALT! Initializing launch sequence!”

The chain began to vibrate harder.

“Launching in seven seconds!”

“6!”

“5!”

  
Seconds. 37109 was going to be shattered.

 

“4! Velocity dampeners disabled!”

This wasn’t real. They were still in their room. No, she thought, you’ve just become better at imagining tests. This is just a false memory. The characters are some combination of gems you’ve seen before.

 

“3! Ray field lit!”

 

But you’ve never known of an Aquamarine like that, let alone seen one. You’ve never seen a gem smile that way. Have you even smiled before?

  
  


“2! Fire meteorites!”

The shuttle lurched with turbulence. Stars sank, then fell, then became white streaks. 37109 looked down. Their hands were shunted to the top of the pad.

 

“1 - wait, where are they going?”  
37109 couldn’t find the part of their thoughts that had told them to do that. What was happening? Scuffling sounds filtered through the radio, and then the front of the pod was blanketed with a devilish blue face, spiked teeth grit.

“You stupid thing! Where are you going? Can’t you understand basic instructions, or do they have to be beat into you? Shoot that pod!”

37109 leant forward, two missiles headed up towards them from the rapidly shrinking yellow statue. Then one exploded as a great arc of lightning flashed out towards it. Then another.

“The statue! No! This is the wrong impression, completely wrong!” Lace-Aquamarine bellowed offscreen. “You’re shooting at a depiction of our Diamond, you MORONS!”

They turned back, staring directly into 37109’s crossed eyes.

“And you, idiot, what do you think you’re doing! You’ll be shattered for this! I’ll do it myself, puny Pyrites like you I could _break_ between my teeth!”  
 37109 shook. The pod shook. Everything felt like it was falling apart. They were going to be alone for the rest of their life, until they caught up and obliterated her for her insolence.

“Lace-Aquamarine, Ma’am, we’re being hailed by Yellow Diamond’s ship! Oh stars, we’re doomed…”

Lace-Aquamarine’s image began to come through in snapshots. The last clip showed her upturned mouth with the tear-shaped gem creased by the gem performer’s fearful grimace.

And then there was nothing but the light of rushing space to see.

#  Glint 4

 

Galaxies and suns rolled gracefully across the domed window of the pod. 37109 was awestruck. There was so much space. There was no ceiling, no ground. They were free, but this was somehow even more terrifying. What would they do now? Their thoughts, unchained from the fear of being scanned and reported began to flood through all at once.

Free?

Not shattered?  
Broken?  
It’s a test, it’s a test,

No more tests…

wait and see, then we go back…

But nothing came. No hails, no alerts. Though they’d judged by the changing of the guards when a cycle passed, they never figured out how to measure time inside the dark room. And which cycle could they measure by anyway? - there were so many planets passing by… They passed one beige gas giant, but it was just more of the same, though the orbit seemed to have given the pod a boost.

 

Their clashing thoughts were suddenly slammed together. 37109 became hyper focused on a glowing section of the pod dome, flashing a dangerous crimson.

CRASH IMMINENT.

37109 looked around. Which way was the pod flying? Their hands dragged across the pad. More planets rolled around as the pod went into a somersault.

ORBIT DETECTED. CORRECTING TRAJECTORY. DESIGNATE LANDING ZONE OR BEGIN MANUAL MANEUVERS.

 

A place to land? They’d never landed anything before. They only knew how to crash.

AUTOPILOT SIGNAL NOT FOUND. SELECT AND EXECUTE MANUAL LANDING NOW.

A crash it would have to be. 37109 levelled out the pod, then looked down to the surface of the planet as the heat of reentry began to fry the very air like the jets of those test rockets.

 

And then the pod exploded, and 37109 saw nothing more.

#  Glint 5

 

Blackness. And so much pain. Strikes, blasts, piercing cuts, all at once. Can’t stand it, can’t survive-

“Oh gosh, are you alive?”

Digits gripping their shoulders, preparing to slam them down- or, rolling them over, gently and slowly. Tracing the lines of their torso and neck, feeling them gently. Touching the three vertices of their gem.

“Gosh, you’ve been impaled with a rock too. And your legs, oh god, where are they? You’re all pale… Here, up you go!”  
Grunts, drifting on a plane (a vehicle?), then resting across a warm, short slab. Too short for all of them, but not all there anyway. A glowy feeling.

 

37109 awoke. They were between two soft slabs of some soft, almost cloud-like material, with another misty mass under their head. It was quiet, apart for an alert, though it was playing too short and quietly to be effective as a warning. It was more of a ticking. Tick, tick…

“Oh thank goodness. Golly, you had me scared. I was so jumped up I thought you’d fallen apart, but by the time I got you home you seemed to be alright.”

All right? 37109 reached their right hand with their left. They checked their whole body, kicked their feet. Still there. How? They should have been shattered, unconscious. But this was clearly real - too new and unusual to be the shadows again.

“Goodness, but my manners, I don’t even know if you speak English. Sprecken ze deutsch? No? I suppose it was rather a long shot my German would come in handy.”

They were being spoken to. It must be a superior. 

“Gosh, your tan is so odd, I can’t decide where you’re from, and you’re wearing so little for this climate. What’s your name, miss?”

They clambered up, tossing the cloud away, and standing to address at the foot of the split-open articulated slabs. Sharp pains dug up through their stiff feet, but they powered through.

“  D-37109, Pyrite class, reporting for du-duties,” they managed, struggling with their thoughts enough to speak.

“I didn’t ask your rank, miss, gosh, what sort of military- Nevermind, let’s call you Pyrite for now. Strange title, even for some sort of secret operative or whatever.”

“Pyrite, that’-that’s correct, ma’am.”

 

Pyrite chanced a risky glance around the room. The slabs where they’d awoken from reforming, a strange-looking glowing Robonoid with a hat and a long tail, and two differently-sized boxy brown rocks covered in handholds. Another handhold was attached above the slabs as well.

“Here, miss Pyrite, won’t you look this way when I’m talking to you?”  
Pyrite turned to look at the gem. Then looked down. Why were they in a control throne, and why was it grounded if it had repulsors attached?  
The gem themselves, when Pyrite felt brave enough to study them for a moment, was very unusual. They had a short, curly head of hair like a Quartz soldier, but they were much shorter, and all their muscles seemed to be silted solely on their upper half. The skin of their form was textured strangely, unevenly, like a rough-hewn Black Jasper, with unusual patches of white they’d never seen before. They had a strange way of blinking, like Lace-Aquamarine’s grimace but with wider eyes and higher brows.

“You look like you’ve suffered a lot. There was hardly anything left of your helicopter either. Listen,” said the strange gem, “I’m going to let you stay here for a little while until you can get a hold of your base, or boss, or whoever it’ll goshdarn be. But trust me,” their face shifting to some kind of closed-mouth anger,” You won’t be going flying anytime soon if I have anything to say about it.”

Pyrite was terrified. There was no escape after all. They’d be reported soon, or the tests would start again, and this gem would be their new coordinator, and there’d be new agonies, new shadows, those slabs of softness all some kind of ploy-

 

But inside, one voice seemed to disagree, the same silent tones of survival.  
“You’re safer here.”

#  Glint 6

Tick. Tick. Tick.   
Pyrite could not switch off. She lay between the two slabs of the bed, fists shaking, listening to the ticking of the machine. For some reason, the shadows wouldn’t come. Where were they? Why wasn’t she thinking of the tests? The orders? When would they come back and open the portal and find that at last she’d been tarnished and would have to be shattered, it would have to happen soon, surely?

Surely?

Pyrite lifted the top slab from the bed and stood up. She walked over to the door and opened it. Her feet, used to the uncompromising hardness of stone and metallic polymers, was perturbed and a little excited in those first steps. The material was solid, true, but it had a certain factor to it, accompanied by some worrying noises. Fibrous? Pyrite was certain, but the material was far too weak. She pulled her foot out of the hole she’d made. The thought of tests floated to the top of her mind again but pushed it down. This flooring choice was an interesting problem, and despite her experiences, she’d always been fond of solving a puzzle. Those moments of calculation had been the only time she’d felt in control.

The two ends of the plank had the rough appearance of a spiked crag. It was indeed fibrous. Some kind of resin coating smoothed the surface but inside it was a mess of parallel lengths. It was strong in its combination but inferior to a ferrostructure or other materials. And it couldn’t stand weight. Pyrite looked to her feet, solid, dependable cubes rotated a light 45-degree angle. Then to the snapped plank. She would have to try and step more carefully. Inside her mind, she added several careful notes.

She opened the door. It was no barren dirt-field. More planks made up the flooring. It was more room. 

She passed more portals. This room was long and wide, and split off - a corridor,  though there was room to turn around here. She chose one. Inside, three different apertures were in place, each providing a peculiar angle and a white sheen, albeit marked with black lines and spots. There was a translucent sheet which betrayed the night outside. There were several grips attached to these devices and a reflective communicator screen - but at this point, Pyrite could no longer claim to make logical attachments to this world and to Homeworld. 

If this truly was not a test, and this was indeed another world, one out of touch of Homeworld- then Pyrite had not even a minimal idea of the systems herein. She would have to endure it another way. She would have to learn.

#  Glint 7

 

The star rose over the mountains slowly and gently. Bright blinking flashes lit it up like a corona of white lasers, a sign of icy deposits. Snow, the sublimation of moisture to form a granulated mineral like sand, but whose molecules became more than the sum of their parts - snowflakes. In a similar way to the formation of Gems on Homeworld, each formed superstructures with minute differences to their design - on some, arms would be slightly wider, expressions would differ, the placement of their gem cores located in different places. 

But even accounting for that, Pyrite had no frame of reference for her captor. They just didn’t look like any kind of gem, except by comparisons that mixed purposes too much. They weren’t designed in a way that made sense. For instance, what was the purpose of their legs if they used a travelling throne instead? And they said strange words that didn’t mean anything. This part - not meaning anything - was extremely frightening.

“I'm sure you're used to rations or somesuch, but I thought you could appreciate some home-cooked food while you're here.”

The captor presented a concave device with a pool of steaming green liquid inside. The bowl was accompanied by a tray and a small disc with a lightly-browned pebble on top. Pyrite took in the various molecules they emitted with a cautious tongue. The tray was light, and of the same material as the floor, with a polished finish. On the side of the bowl there was a small printing of a pointed orange gem with green hairs at its thicker end.

“Oh gosh, the spoon. Wait right there,” they said, and wheeled their chair over to the kitchen-top.

Pyrite turned to look out of the window again. The building, which the captor had called ‘my home’, was inefficiently made if it was designed for shelter from liquid-based erosion. The materials contained zero non-ferrous metals, only a peculiar concoction of varying hues which coated the inside and outside of its walls. Perhaps a field emitter on the roof had been doing the job? Pyrite hadn't been outside since their unconscious recovery.

Ku-lunk. The device clattered on the tray.

It in some ways matched the design of the bowl, resembling a weapon designed in its image. Pyrite ran several assumptions as to its purpose before filling the spoon with a measure of soup. Their captor watched patiently. They tipped it, studied the other's face. A look of very slight consternation. They refilled the spoon.

“It's not poisoned, I promise.”

Pyrite was confused by the word. They watched the gestures of the captor. With as much care as possible, they lifted it to their mouth and closed their lips around it. The liquid flowed inside of them in a truly unpleasant sensation. They put down the spoon and scrunched up their chin.

“Oh, that bad? Gracious. I'm afraid it's all I have for now. You'll have to finish it before I make anything else.”

And with that they set to emptying their own bowl. Pyrite was mystified, but did as they were told.

 

“I realise you might not be up to much still, but I reckon you have more to tell me about yourself. Your accent isn't from anywhere in the South-East, so where are you from?”

“I believe I already mentioned, Madam.”

“Yes, well, I looked you up and that wasn't turning up anything in the phone book, or the Atlas.”

Pyrite thought hard about how to explain to them without making them feel ignorant.

“So I guess it must be true. You're someone from above.”

Pyrite nodded. That was true.

Suddenly they burst out laughing, spitting tiny droplets of soup across the table. Pyrite felt her hands bunch up.

“And so modest too! Well I certainly don't have any wings to send you back!” they said, through eyes of pain. Were they happy?

“Madam, if you are not to send me back to Homeworld space, and you don't have any weapons, why are you keeping me here?”

As they said it they knew it was a mistake. The woman was put out. They wheeled around the table and looked up into Pyrite’s face. “I rather thought it was hospitality.”

The word implied Diamonds, a visit, spotless quarters, constant presence.

“I'm no Diamond!” Their thoughts raced. “Are you defective? Was this a test too?”

The woman held her face, unamused. “I’m not sure what kind of training you’ve gone through, but I won’t have people speaking that way to me in my own house. If you're well enough to be picky,” she said, moving back around to her soup, “maybe it’s time you left.”

Pyrite stood and marched out of the room. Just as they passed through the doorway, a thinly resonant knocking came from somewhere near the front of the house. Pyrite scanned for the source and came upon the front door. A dark shape was visible through the mottled glass. It shouted, “Amanda? Miz Amanda? I've your mail, Miz.”

“Out the way- to your room,” Amanda said, and drove past them to the door.

Pyrite did as they were told.

“Hello, Anthony! How are you?”

“I’m swell, Miz. Nice weather out today.”

“Yes, it looks very bracing.”

“Oo yes, Miz. Oh, here’s your mail.”

“Thank you, Anthony.”

“Did you have someone over?”  
“No, it’s just me.”

After a few minutes, Amanda rolled into the bedroom. She looked away down the corridor before resting her arms.

“You can come out now. I didn’t want anyone to ask any funny questions. I already had some investigators over, and it took me a whole afternoon while you were asleep getting rid of them, and I couldn’t get to the Ez Mart until the next day.”

Pyrite was sat on the floor, cross-legged, hiding the hole in the floor. Amanda noticed for the first time how strangely-proportioned her guest was. They were tall, wide-shouldered, and clearly had some muscles, but their head was almost completely circular, and their eyes were practically square.

“I think you have to answer some of my questions.”

This was it. Whatever this adventure had been, it was over.

“You’re not from around here, are you?”

“Negative.”

“And you’re not really a soldier, either, even if you do speak like a robot.”

Robot? Did she mean robonoid? “Negative.”

“And you speak english well enough.”

Pyrite risked talking back. “What is English?”

Amanda leant back and squeezed her lips together.

“You’re really not from this planet, huh?”

“Ne- negative.”

“Goodness gracious.”

#  Glint 8

Amanda found a pencil and paper and rested her elbows on the table. The soup from before still smelled like rich plant matter, but it was cold and congealed, and Pyrite couldn’t muster the strength to try and eat again. They wished they had something to do.

“Sooo, I used to be a reporter. They’re like people who go looking for things that are happening and they take notes and write about it.”

Pyrite nodded.

“Now, I’m not actually going to tell anyone your story, but I want to make sure I have all the details down so that I can help you.”

“You still want to help me?”

“If I can, I’d like to.”

“Then you must be extremely powerful.”

Amanda’s hands drooped over the table. “I wouldn’t say that.”

“Then maybe you can hide me. The ship will have a tracking beacon on it, if we can get rid of it…”

“Hold on now. You’re running from someone?”

“The Diamonds. The Diamond Authority.”

“And who are the these Diamonds? Are they like you?”

“I’ve never seen them myself,” said Pyrite, “but they’re supposed to make other Gems in their image.”

“And you’re a Gem? Or something else?”

“I am a Pyrite.”

“Fool’s Gold? I suppose you look a little shiny…”

“What’s gold?”

“Ah- it’s your colour I suppose.”

“What rank does that make me on this planet?”

“We don’t have ranks, or at least we’re not supposed to.”

Pyrite began to realise how mad this planet was.

“Well, this is a lot to write down. Hold on. Okay - so you say you had a ship. Does it work?”

“I don’t think so. I couldn’t control it - I’m not much of a pilot.” Or much of anything, thought Pyrite.

“Well, it hasn’t gone anywhere. I can take you back to it this afternoon, if you’d like.”

“I would like to, if that’s okay.”

“Of course.” Amanda tapped her lip. “What do you eat?”

Pyrite glances to their bowl, frowning.

“Sunlight? Do you need water?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Hm.”

The sound of an aeroplane booms overhead. Pyrite runs to a window to catch sight of their pursuers, and sees a thin, sword-like shape overhead, drifting slowly between the cloudlines. 

“That’s just a passenger plane, come sit back here,” Amanda says sternly.

“Affirmative.”

“Okay, I’ll say this for now; I’m not comfortable to have you stay here with alien crystals coming to get you, but I’m sure I can find you somewhere to stay. The rent around here is affordable; maybe we can find you a job-”

“A job?”

“Like, a role you do in return for money, or shelter in this case.”

Oh no, thought Pyrite.

“You are a trap. You’re going to experiment on me again, an- and I’ll never be free!”

“Goodness, it’s not that bad. I have a job too.”

“No! You- You can’t take me back! I won’t let you!”

Pyrite shoots up, grabs her chair by the leg, waves it above her head just the way those Topaz waved their batons. There’s a crash as a lightbulb smacks into the ceiling, and pieces of glass fall into the gem’s hair. Amanda rolls back, drops the notepad, holds her right hand up protectively.

Pyrite flinches, covers her own face, drops the chair to the floor.

“Pyrite, wait!”

They open their eyes. Amanda swallows. She’s sweating, terrified.

“I’m sorry, Pyrite. I didn’t mean to scare you. I think we see things differently on Earth than you.”

The tremors again. Pyrite can’t reach anywhere.

“I’m- I’m going to try something and see if it makes you feel better.”

Amanda rolls slowly around the table to Pyrite, reaches forward in her chair and wraps her arms around Pyrite’s shaking frame.

“On Earth we do this to people who feel down. I promise I’ll do everything I can to help you, Pyrite, but you need to trust me.”

Pyrite opens their eyes, clouded with tears, and looks down into Amanda’s face, crowned with jet black hair, and looking very small. They nod.

#  Glint 9

“Well, there’s nothing for it. If we want to get there before nightfall, we’ll have to take my truck.”

Amanda rolls down the ramp and onto the dirt path.

“Come on, Pyrite. Let’s get going.”

“You are sure this is acceptable to you?”

“Yes, you said it yourself, we’ve got to get it over with.”

She makes it to a hedge over the road. “It’s in here. Come here and help me, won’t you?”

Pyrite looks across the road.

“Is there anyone who might be watching?”

Amanda throws a branch behind her. “I sure hope not, I’ll look awful silly.”

The leaves are cleared off, revealing a rusty white pickup truck wrapped in vines and weeds - the front grille looks like green-entangled teeth. The windows are closed, and it’s missing a side mirror. Amanda pulls at a long length of vine, revealing a tiger graphic titled “Big Cat Couriers”. No time to ask what that means. Amanda maneuvers around to the right side, backs up before the door, and opens it out. Inside, it is plain, rubbery black and dusty, with odd bits of mail paper strewn underneath the seats. They toss out an empty cardboard box and look up at Pyrite.

“You want this vehicle?”

“Yes. I’ll need your help to get in. How strong are you?”

“I don’t know…”

“Well try and lift me. Get your hands around my sides - yep, that’s it. I’m going to turn, if you can keep me level…”

Once in the car, Amanda lifts herself up and tucks her feet in. “Now you come round the other side and sit in that seat.”

Pyrite gets in. They’re a little tall, and they tuck down the tops of their stiff hair, splitting it like the head of a brush. Seat taken, they look dubiously at the wheel.

“Okay, Pyrite, I’ll need you to drive.”

Drive? “I can’t do this.”

Amanda holds her chin. “It’s just like your ship. This wheel is how you steer, then the pedals underneath are how you accelerate.”

“But there’s no control pad - how do you control the flight path?” They kick at the pedals. “I don’t know what these are for either.”

“Ah- true. Okay, actually, I should drive. Somehow.”

Pyrite looks at them, reaches over to them to try and lift them over.  
“Wait! That’s, ah, a bit awkward. I’ll say now, I don’t want you to just lift me without my asking.”

“I’m extremely sorry.”

“No need for that. I do need to sit there. I’ll need your feet.”

“I can’t take them off.”

“You work the pedals, and I can steer.”

Amanda leans over, hops up on their thighs. “Hang on, I think I can get there myself.”

She winds up with her head in Pyrite’s lap.  
“Mmf. Gimme a hand up.”

Amanda sits up between Pyrite’s legs.

“It’s lucky you’re not a human, or else this might be awkward,” pipes up Amanda cheerfully. Pyrite can’t answer, and tries very hard to avoid resting her chin on Amanda’s head.

She starts the ignition on the first try.

“Here we go. On your right side, I want you to put your foot down just a little bit. It should have a tiny bit of give.”

The truck revs, and Pyrite sees some puffs of dark smoke escape out the back end, and the smell of burnt vegetation drifts over.

“Wow, there’s still some fuel in the tank. It should get us up the hill, at least. Now take your foot off.”

The revving stops.  
“Great. Next, I want you to find the leftmost pedal. Hold that one down.”

Amanda sets it to first gear.

“Ec-cell-ent. Right foot down just a little. And now lift your left foot gradually back off.”

Amanda sighs, pats the dusty black dashboard, and listens to the purr for a moment. “And she still has her voice. What a trooper.”

Pyrite frowns and says, “Thank you, Trooper.”

Amanda sniffs with humour. “That’s the kind of respect she deserves. Now- Foot on the right pedal? I’m going to release the handbrake, and that will start us moving. All I want you to do is hold it down just a little bit, and I’ll tell you if you need to let it up. Okay?”

“Affirmative.”

The handbrake clicks, and the sound makes Pyrite grip the chair and close their eyes. A slight whirr, some rubbery snaps, and a bump. They open their eyes, and find themselves approaching the house - Then turning. They’re moving very, very slowly.

“Keep an eye on the dial here for me,” Amanda says pointing to the speedometer, “Now we’re on the road we keep to the speed limit, which is thirty. If we get close to that number, let go a little.”

“Speed limit. Affirmative.” What a wonderful concept!

The truck sets off at a steady, limping walking pace.

 

“Here it is. Well done, you didn’t grind it once. Take your left foot off and put it down on the middle pedal, and we’ll come to a stop about here.”

The crash site is in a small, grassy copse. Amanda guides them between two young cherry trees and points to a length of blasted saplings.

“Here we are. Gosh, you made an excellent landing, all things considered.”

“I didn’t land, that was the ship.”  
“You could have fooled me! Your pedalship is excellent.”

Pyrite returned the smile awkwardly, pulling their lips over their square teeth. Amanda doesn’t say anything and turns back to the road.

The ship is a red ovular chunk of metal that looks like a cross between a Reese’s cup and a red jelly-bean. Three triangular feet are strewn along its impact mark, which starts at the top of two beheaded trees and ends against a now-wrecked wire fence. Pyrite climbs up the top surface and runs their fingers across its peak for the hatch. The hatch glows, hisses and phases out, and Pyrite slots themselves through the hole. Amanda watches from the car.

“Goodness gracious, they were telling the truth.”

She listens to the sounds of hard fists pounding on thin metal. There’s a familiar itch on her elbow. She runs a finger along the rubber. It was only last year she’d been driving by herself, running her own business, getting known in town. Anthony was a great boss, but she wanted independence and he didn’t begrudge her the odd jobs that came up during the day, and besides which he had his photographs to work on. It occurred to her some days that she’d really never given herself the time to find something that she wanted to do on holidays.

“I found it!”  
Pyrite slams a bundle of wires attached around a drumstick-shaped device onto the ground, and stamps on it hard, then again to make sure it snaps open. They stamp, stamp, stamp it down, until there’s nothing left but egg-shell fragments.

“There,” shouts Pyrite, huffing, and not as relieved as they were hoping.

  
Pyrite climbs back in the car on the passenger side.

“I can ask Anthony to bring his tow cable around so we can move this thing.” She wipes a cherry from the windscreen. “We really ought to leave something for the owners too.”

“Like soup?”

“That’s a nice idea, but they’ll probably want something a little more metallic than that.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what else you give to… Humans, on Earth.”

“That’s okay, We’ll think of something.”

They sit for a minute. Amanda is studying the ship, thinking of ways to prevent a country orchard-owner from pressing charges.

“Do you think I might explain to them the situation?”

“I don’t think that would be the best-”

A screech of metal slashes their ears. Pyrite flips upside down and falls out of the doorframe, landing with a thud on the ground and a yell of shock. Two seconds later, they’re lifted bodily into the air, face-down, and thrown thirty feet across the orchard into a hose tap, filling the air with bursting water.

“PYRITE!”

Something short, stocky and wine-red blurs towards Pyrite’s prone body. They start to stand, feeling their chest-gem, before a thick spiked maul slams down on their back, jerking their entire body out and slamming them back down.

Amanda climbs the dashboard to look.

 

The attacker is a Ruby soldier. Two short arms and legs, thickened by cutoff chestpads and shorts, and a solid body, giving them the approximate size of an eight-year-old girl; if said girl had been pumping iron for three years and was a veteran of multiple planetary conquests, and the expression of an enforcer in at least two rebellions. They wear a frizzy bob braided into a crown to keep it out of their face, a shade of dirty red, and when they glance back at Amanda their eyes are dilated to the point of being entirely black. The mace in their hands is easily as tall as them, and as thick as their head. Without looking ahead, they hammer it down from off their shoulders, to a hoarse cry from Pyrite. When it speaks, it is with a spunky, gruff voice like a crude impression of a Bronx tough, and it is absurdly menacing.

“You D-37109, right?” 

Pyrite can’t do more than wheeze, desperately trying to hold themselves together, feeling the splits in their form begin to widen.

The Ruby bares its teeth and snarls. 

“You damn off-colours shoulda just stayed inna ground. Heard you really busted things too yourself - that Lace-Aquamarine was real mad.”

“Explodin’.” they say, and punctuate it with a vicious kick.

“You leave her alone! You’ve got no right to be here!”

“This your friend, meatbag? You wanna argue with me?”

Amanda scoots gracefully over to the passenger side to lean out. “Damn right! What kind of Authority sends kids to kidnap their subjects?”  
“This shard-ta-be here ain’t a subject of nothin’. Diamond Authority want her back for questionin’, and there won’t be much but dust when they’re done.”

She was talking to a little girl? Things just kept getting worse.

“What’d they ever do to deserve this?”

The Ruby turns, puts their offhand to their hip, and cackles. “Don’t matter what they did. They’ve needed a beating since they came outta the ground the wrong shade.”

“You can’t talk to people like that here!”  
“Yeh? Watch me, Meatbag. Hey, off-colour-”

A golden frisbee flies straight into their face, rebounding and flying straight up into the air. Pyrite reaches to their side for another. They widen their feet, trying for an approximation of the Ruby’s stance, left foot in front. The Ruby mirrors them, rubbing its forehead and twirling the mace like a baton.

 

Pyrite tries for a feint, darting left, then flinging another disc into the Ruby’s arm. This one is deflected, wobbling off the dirt. The Ruby leaps, pounds the mud where Pyrite stood seconds earlier. The Ruby grabs a branch and toss it across their body, and it locks between her legs and sends them crashing down. They take two quick steps, slam the mace down on Pyrite’s leg, and it bends at an awful angle, shimmering dully. Two more smaller frisbees spatter on the Ruby’s chest, forcing them back to give Pyrite time to stand, awkwardly holding their leg. Their gem begins to vibrate with the effort of staying upright.

“I can tell y’aint made fer fightin,” pants the Ruby, “Cos your gem grew in forward. Makes it a great-” swing! “Target!” Slam! 

Pyrite barely evades the soldier-gem’s lethal swings. They know one direct hit will shatter them on the spot. The discs are welling up freely from their hands now, but none are striking with the same force as the first, and the Ruby is taking their scorches with relish. A surprise thrust almost takes out their other foot.

Reaching for something impactful, they grab a bare twig and shove its dry fingers into the Ruby’s face. The Ruby yells in surprise and anger, tosses the mace down to grab for Pyrite’s outstretched arms.

A revving bubbles up into Pyrite’s hearing. Pyrite throws themselves forward, breaking out of the hold, and rolls to the side. The Ruby turns, bares their jagged teeth-

And bursts into a cloud of ruddy smoke as the Big Cat Courier truck barrels through them at 30mph. Pyrite watches in wonder as the truck comes to a stop against an old cherry tree, which sheds the last of its blossoms over the roof of the cabin. Amanda pulls herself up to the window and waves. She’s crying with fear.

“Di-did I kill them?”

Pyrite calls back, “They dematerialised. I didn’t know that could happen.”

Pyrite crawls toward the flattened grass of the tire tracks. The Ruby’s gem sits in the mud, coated in dirt and flakes of pink petal.

“They’re gone. We’re safe.”

Amanda sighs in relief. She disappears and starts to reverse. Pyrite clambers to their feet, holding the ruby in their hands. A tiny chip has been knocked from the circumference, and a pang of guilt rushes through them. They reach down to search- There. It fits completely, but slips off into their palm when they move their thumb. 

Amanda studies the gem. “Oh. That’s not good, is it.”

“I- I’ve been terrified of this happening to me all my life.”

She pinches her chin. 

“We did what we had to. It was self-defence, honey.” 

She puts her hand on Pyrite’s shoulder. A warmth spreads out from the spot, becoming hot enough for Amanda to pull her hand back. A deep yellow light runs vein-like along the yellow gem’s arms and spiderweb across the vertices of the ruddy gem, infusing it with a pink lightbulb glow. Then, the gem drifts above their head, whining, then growing back limbs as the Ruby regenerates. It drops rigid into the back of the truck, spreadeagled, and unconscious. Pyrite puts a foot on one tire to look in. The Ruby breathes quietly, wrapped in a coppery blanket.

“Amanda, I saved them.”

“Well done, now dump them out and let’s get home.”

“No need.”

The Ruby hops over the side, rolls and runs to a bundle of twigs. Underneath is a tiny sphere, which opens out into a hatch. The Ruby clambers in, takes a set and drops a hand onto a control pad, pulls the cloak around their body.

“I’ll see myself off,” the Ruby grunts.   
The hatch slides shut, and with a boom fires up into the sky, leaving a trail of fire as it breaks the afternoon sky. The pair watch until it blinks out in the sky, then slump in sync. Pyrite grips their dented leg and grimaces with the effort of fixing it.

“Can we go home now?”

“Affirmative. I’ll work the pedals.”

  
  


#  Glint 10

“Thank you for saving me,” Pyrite says into Amanda’s crown.

Amanda breathes out, changes gear up to second as they roll down the lane to home.

“My pleasure, honey. I couldn’t sit and watch, could I?”

“Why not?”

“You remind me of me. These two lumps stuck on my bottom weren’t always useless.”

She takes a long breath in and out. 

“A year - a long time ago, I was in an accident that took them away from me, and for a long time I was really lonely. I felt like every time I tried to do anything outside my chair I was getting hit with a big mace- but inside.”

Pyrite winces.

“I get now that I need someone like you who knows what it’s like, who gets it. And for a moment it felt like I was giving some lumps back too.”

Pyrite leans back, shifts their shoulders, and wraps their arms around her waist. Amanda hums at the contact, then relaxes and shifts the gear down to first.

“I’ll tell you how we do things on Earth gently, but for now I’ll warn you that we don’t all appreciate this kind of touching.”

Pyrite moves to pull away. 

“Nono, it’s fine with me. I don’t mind if it’s you, Pyrite, I just mean to warn you.”

The truck finally pulls in to its overgrown parking space.

“It’s nice. Just let me know if you want to hug me.”

“I will.”

The truck shudders and dies.

"I don't know about you, but I'm starving."


End file.
